


Beware of the Wolf

by holy_milk



Series: prompt memes/requests [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Foreshadowing, Gen, almost a halloween fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 19:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21282416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holy_milk/pseuds/holy_milk
Summary: They told him so.
Relationships: Bëor the Old & Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Celegorm | Turcafinwë & Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Finrod Felagund | Findaráto & Maedhros | Maitimo
Series: prompt memes/requests [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1530497
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Beware of the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Written for silmarillionno, who requested Finrod + _On the edge of consciousness_.
> 
> [ _ **Send me character(s) and a letter and I’ll write you a minific!** _ ](https://venwe.tumblr.com/post/188632020310/send-me-characters-and-a-letter-and-ill-write)

"Are you sure you will be safe on your own?" Maedhros asked.

He had caught him packing sneakily in the small hours but made no attempt to stop him or even demand the reason for his early departure.

"There’s hardly any danger for me in these lands nowadays, thanks to your vigilant watch,” Finrod looked over his shoulder to give him a warm smile.

Maedhros did not smile back as he looked at him, his face looking even grimmer in the dawn than usual.

Finrod looked down at his sack then and busied himself with fitting his cloak into it — the day promised to be clear and fine, and he would hardly need it on his journey.

“Beware of the wolf,” he heard from above.

Finrod spun around, puzzled, to look at his cousin.

But Maedhros was already gone.

The sun was rising but the shadows around him were growing longer and darker.

* * *

Beor’s hand felt almost weightless and looked almost translucent as he studied it in the pale light of the midday autumn sun.

"Don't look so sad, now, my friend," Beor reproved him mildly, withdrawing his hand and nudging Finrod gently with his elbow. "We came out here to eat and enjoy the fine day, let’s settle on that."

They sat together, just the two of them, on the bank of Narog just outside the secret entrance to the halls of Nargothrond. Beor's old walking stick lay in the grass by his side. He couldn't get far without it these days.

"I'm sorry," Finrod apologized, "I promise I won't ruin your day with any more of my brooding on your impending death.”

Beor gave a satisfied nod, stroking his beard that had long gone silvery gray. He then leaned over to retrieve some bread and cheese from the basket between them and offered half of it to the king. His hands were shaking slightly, but Finrod choose not to remark on that.

“I will miss you, though,” he said instead. “Immensely.” 

"I know," Beor answered simply.

He grew tired after a while, like he often did these days, and laid his head wearily on Finrod's shoulder. Finrod tilted his head a little, so that his cheek rested on the top of the old man's gray head.

"It’s not my death you should worry about,” Beor’s voice sounded dull and solemn.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

Finrod closed his eyes, exhaling. His body shivered despite the warm day, and the soft grass beneath him felt hard and cold, like stone.

“Beware of the wolf.”

* * *

He was awakened by a scream, and it took him a while to realize that it had been his own scream. 

He lay in the bed, staring unblinkingly at the dark ceiling, his whole body shaking and drenched in cold sweat, until his eyes started to hurt. He heard the door being opened with a soft creak.

“Findarato?” Celegorm called quietly, stepping into his chamber and closing the door shut behind himself. 

Finrod felt his bed dipping under the other’s weight. A moment later, a hand was laid upon his sweaty brow.

“You look unwell, cousin,” Celegorm remarked softly as he shifted to meet Finrod’s eyes. “Shall I call for someone—”

“It’s fine,” Finrod said abruptly, banishing the remnants of his dark dream, “I just had a nightmare.”

He made to sit up, and Celegorm put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him upright. His arm then slid lower, rubbing soothing circles onto his back as Finrod dragged his hands through his disheveled hair, taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, cousin,” Celegorm’s voice fell down to a whisper. It might have been Finrod’s imagination, but he almost sounded sad. “You know it was never about you.”

Finrod shook his head.

“He’s here,” Celegorm’s breath was hot on his ear as he brought their heads together. “Beware of the wolf.”

* * *

The darkness was thick and heavy around them, and the chains bit into his flesh, ice-cold and scorching hot at the same time.

He heard Beren whispering feverishly, at the very edge of his consciousness, “Dungalef!”.

That was supposed to be his name. He let the sound of it pull him back into wakefulness.

“Do you hear it?” Beren’s eyes flashed hotly in the dark. “What is it?”

He turned his attention outwards, beyond the filthy pit they had been thrown into. A gut-wrenching, ear-piercing howl came from somewhere above their heads.

“That, my friend,” Finrod replied calmly as his faithful companions scuttled away from the door someone was unlocking from the outside, “is the wolf.”


End file.
